


Bewitched Seraphim

by Sacrilewis



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Historical Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, I think everyone is gay, M/M, This is inspired by Salem but that's pretty obvious, Torture, Witch Hunts, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 22:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20071861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacrilewis/pseuds/Sacrilewis
Summary: Warlocks. Hellbound beings that were believed to have faded from existence within the angelic borders of a small country called Idris. Its only village, Alicante, was the proud home of the Angel's children, the Nephilim. With the growth of their Church and their own history, non-bearers of angelic runes had also adapted to a new belief.But the Angels, in the depth of heaven, were believed to still feel fear. Fear brought over them by their own banned kind, referred to as demons. And with the Nephilim being the offspring of purity, Warlocks were their counterparts. They were bound to hell, like Nephilim were fated for heaven.All beings outside the holy realm of the Angel's church referred to themselves - unknown to others - as the Downworld. It was naive to think that said Downworlder only existed within the cursed parts outside Idris. Once a rumour spreads - a rumour about magic tainting the holy village - anyone without protective marks of the Angels will find themselves in danger.What if your loved ones were the hunted and you were the hunter? Did fear of something unknown justify innocent sacrifices? And how do you protect the innocent from torture; what if protection equalled danger somewhere else?





	Bewitched Seraphim

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
I'm trying to get back into writing. Sooo... Let's see how this goes!  
I can't promise a schedule yet; I'll see if people are interested first. (Hopefully it won't flop!) 
> 
> I'd appreciate Kudos if you like it or a simple comment with your thoughts! Maybe I should mention that if you're not into ship stuff you should probably not read. Its main ships are Malec and Jimon, the rest is more or less... just on the side. 
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter. @Bluebellartsies

**Prologue: Judgement**

“No,_ wait, no!_

_Let go off me, let go, please let go!”_

A shriek resonated through the pastel hours of another, fateful morning. Two men clutched their fists around the slender arms of a young man, their coats embellished with symbols of the Angels. His pale skin bruised underneath the tight grip, mirroring the colours just above their proud posture in the morning sky.

_“I didn’t do anything; I’m begging you, please listen!”_

The fearful voice continued. Trembling sobs vibrated under his tongue as the men dragged him across the village’s market place and onto a stage merely built for public shaming or execution; high enough for every man or woman to witness within the surrounding area.

The young man with his teary eyes — still a boy almost — was forcefully pulled to the wooden apparatus while a third man, appearing out of nowhere, opened the pillory and pushed the clasp shut as soon as hands and neck had rested at the allocated areas.

Curious eyes appeared out of dimmed houses, windows opened as the sniffles and sobs were carried through the village by whistling wind. The men had not spoken still, stood at the edge of the stage in their white coats and had their gaze directed over the empty market area. Curious eyes turned into curious faces, men and women alike walked out of their homes, arms reaching around their children while shock and confusion slowly washed over their tired faces and breathy yawns.

“Simon Lewis.” A strong, loud voice announced at the squinting eyes of the young man who’s glasses had fallen off his nose and onto the wooden floor. He looked up and tried to make out the outlines of the person speaking to him. Behind blurred colours and uncertain shapes, he noticed short ginger hair. There was only one family with hair as deep in colour as the flames of hell itself.

The Morgensterns.

Jonathan Morgenstern, Simon didn’t need glasses to feel his sharp eyes and witness his heartless walk, was — despite complete silence surrounding him — not by himself. He was followed by the head of the village, Alec Lightwood and two of his three siblings, Jace and Isabelle. 

“Jonathan, do you even have _proof_?” Alec hissed under his breath, his long legs catching up to the only son of the Morgensterns as they walked up the stage and out of Simon’s view.

“I don’t need proof to spot injustice and keep Alicante safe.” He retorted and shot the man next to him an alarming glare. Disagreement towards his actions would not be tolerated; were never tolerated. “He will proof himself guilty, just watch, see and learn.”

Simon whimpered as the conversation went in ripples down his spine, arms automatically trying to free themselves from the pillory. In his mind, he had nothing to confess in the first place. He had yet to learn what they were accusing him of after all.

“You can absolutely not find someone guilty without proof for his crimes. It is _not _the Angel’s will to judge without certainty.” 

“I _am _the Angel’s judge, and judgement I will give as I see necessary. I simply won’t risk the village’s safety because of a worthless farm boy. I will find someone just as suitable to take on his job and property.”

“Jonathan, _no._” Alec tried to argue, voice withstanding the warning roar of his companion. But the accused’s hope to escape unknown crimes faded with every passing second. Jonathan Morgenstern was a clergyman in the small town’s ruling church, the only man more powerful was his father, who wasn’t known of his compassion.

With enough people gathered around the public display, Alec’s voice had turned into an inaudible whisper as he seemed to continue to try and spare his fate — Simon knew it had been unsuccessful as he heard steps come towards him, a hand grabbing the collar of his night shirt and pulling hard enough to open up the seam along his back. He shivered as the cold breeze met newly exposed skin.

_“By the Angel, please. I didn’t do anything.”_

Unfazed at the trembling pleads, Jonathan walked around the pillory and harshly pulled on his brown hair, forcing him to look at the watching villagers; people he knew, people that had once cared but wouldn’t acknowledge friendship or acquaintance afterwards.

“Have you not found your way here from one of the neighbouring village’s, despite the surrounding cursed forest?” He asked. 

_“I did, I did. Ten years ago, Sir, and I have never failed to show gratitude since you kindly accepted me into this village.”_

“Jonathan, I am witness of his hard work to earn status, trust and property. He was still a child.” Alec tried to reason. 

“Have you ever wondered why, and how? How was he able to cross the surrounding Seelie forest and escape the banned werewolves when no soul had ever reached this place before? Why did he dare to take that path if safety is easier reached on the other side?” 

“What about your family? Has he not been a loyal friend to your sister?” Hazel eyes glanced at Simon, pity reflecting in them as Alec took notice of the black whip Jonathan had pulled out under his equally dark cloak. And without giving the accused boy another chance to answer, the first blow stroke him across his pale back, forcing him to cry out in pain. There was lingering confusion in his voice, a plead to finally inform him what he had been accused of.

“By the Angel! Are you out of your mind? Let him speak!” Alec continued, his hand forcefully preventing another blow.

“Jonathan!” A female voice suddenly echoed through the empty space around gathered villagers. Long, fiery hair came rushing through the crowd, “What are you doing?!”

Relief reflected in Simon’s eyes as he saw the girl, trying to blink away brimming tears. “Clary,” He begged, “What is going on?”

She looked up and over her restrained friend, hoping her brother would be able to answer that question. 

“Witchcraft.” Jonathan snarled sharply, causing people to gasp and shriek in reaction. Clary frowned, and so did Alec. Simon exhaled a shaky breath as he felt his legs tremble. Books were his best friend, and every story he had ever read had made him understand that anyone put on trial for witchcraft had already lost an unfought battle.

“Simon?!” Clary escaped in disbelief, startled almost as her eyes widened.

“I didn’t — you know me!” And he was right. Clary did know him. This was Simon; the same young man that spent most days on or under a tree by Lake Lyn, reading a book while she was drawing the beautiful view they were given. It was the same Simon that couldn’t walk ten metres without stumbling; her so clumsy but caring best friend. There was no doubt in her mind that he was innocent; nothing about him suggested him to be a warlock.

Before any of them could speak, another ear-splitting crack of Jonathan’s whip forced a broken groan to burn inside Simon’s throat. A few heavy tears dripped from his long lashes, legs giving in under the agonising pain on his back. More of them followed, he didn’t bother counting. He only felt something wet run down his side, unsure wether it was sweat or blood. Perhaps a mix of both.

_“Please let me go. I didn’t do it.”_ He whimpered helplessly, Clary attempting to protect him with strong words. “Let him go, Jonathan, you’re hurting him.” She didn’t want to watch the scene, but would never allow her emerald eyes to look away. Would never let her _best_ friend be tortured without trying to stop her brother from doing so.

Jonathan walked around the pillory again, repeating the action of gripping a handful of Simon’s hair to make him look up. It was awfully uncomfortable, the wood digging into his neck. “Do you have proof? Can you proof that you didn’t bring this awful illness over the family that took you in? That you didn’t fear the Angel’s wrath of your spoilt crops that would put your property in danger?”

Illness? He didn’t know they were ill. Simon wanted to object, ask what had happened to the two women he called his family. But he couldn’t speak. His back was on fire — or so it felt like — and the strength he was left with was barely enough to sniffle quietly. So, he shook his head truthfully. He didn’t have proof. How was one able to convince a clergyman of the absence of magic? 

Simon had lost his non-existent trial before he had even been arrested.

Jonathan’s lips curled into a smirk. “Therefore…” He whispered and carelessly let go off Simon’s hair, pressing his palm against the boy’s bleeding back before he announced to Alec, his sister and the villagers.

“I will sentence him to death.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the Prologue thingy. It's just there to briefly explain the set-up. (And I know I've done Simon wrong but... it's always Simon?)
> 
> More details are to follow in the next chapter!  
I'd appreciate to hear you thoughts. :)


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